<u>Chapter 46 - Just This Once</u>


    Kazir sat cross legged beneath the shadow of his own tent. He was grateful for all the boons it provided; a shield from cold winds, a muffler for all the screams outside, and privacy of course. He grunted in irritation as another crash sounded. The sound of siege tower bridges crashing down on the garrison''s walls. Thus far, The Empire had lost over a fifth of their troops —half that dead and the other half too injured to fight. The injured ones were sent back home so as to not burden the rest of the army.


    The garrison stood resilient, not showing any signs of weakening yet. Field officers that survived each day reported minor hints of exhaustion from the Xenarian sides, but nothing more.


    Minor hints. Kalin was expecting to outlast Tarmia then, feeding his army in rations despite the massive stores of food he''d brought. His plan would backfire if the Empire could endure the harsh winter. Without worrying about the famed Serene cavalry, a proper supply line stretched from Empire lands all the way to the encampment. Kalin was relying too heavily on deserters and illness plaguing his enemies.


    Kazir, hands on his knees with palms facing up, took measured breaths. Three heartbeats per inhale and three per exhale. Calm and focused, he considered many possible scenarios. Perhaps the Duke thought the civil war would end soon and his horsemen would return to lift the siege. A troubling situation, should it occur. Perhaps the only way for the Empire to lose as well.


    "Master Kazir," said a muffled voice from outside. It was Iskra, a wickar in his inner circle.


    "Come in," he ordered. The tent flap was pushed aside, chill air coming in. Kazir tensed, flexing his muscles and gritting his teeth. Flames but he hated keeping up his image. Who''d decided it to be wise for the Wickar to walk around with their top half bare?


    Kazir heard Iskra get down on one knee. "More deserters, master. From the newer militia."


    "Mm. How many does that make it now?" The newly added militia had some months of training, but they lacked the discipline of long term soldiers. It was expected that they would be the first to leave.


    "Almost a thousand have gone. We have more men getting sick also. About a hundred in terrible condition and many times that number that are showing signs. The officers are isolating the sick ones from the rest, but there aren''t enough physics to treat everyone with the needed care."


    "Let the sick be. Those that are strong will recover. Those that aren''t needed will die. Make sure soldiers aren''t wandering outside of their respective camps. We don''t need the newer militia finding out that trained soldiers are eating and resting better than them."


    Iskra nodded. Probably. Kazir wasn''t sure this time.


    The trained portions of the army would be put to use soon. So far the wall defenders had been faced with inferior men not matching in equipment or discipline to themselves. Over a month had passed since the siege began. Even behind fortress walls, winter weather would sap away at Xenarian morale too. They had to be on edge. They''d never come under siege before and that stress had been stewing. Perhaps the stove beneath was getting dim and Kalin''s soldiers found some degree of confidence in themselves, facing inferior quality soldiers.


    But that was all a part of Kazir''s plans. Let them get complacent just as Kalin and Sar''tara had. For years, the Empire''s western front had to manage offenses with poorly trained troops. Xenarians were used to facing weak militia rather than hardened soldiers. They''d get their surprise soon enough, and Kazir would give it to them when their morale was sunk at the bottom of a dried up well.


    "Any word from Samlan or signs of his returning?" Kazir asked. Rustling sounds. Iskra had shaken his head.


    "Er, no master," the assassin then said hastily, as if forgetting that his master was blind.


    Kazir felt like sighing but kept it in. Small annoyances like these built up. The scars on his face ached. Anger boiled inside him. The desire to see squeezed at his patience. I''ll take everything from you, Kalin. Everything! "How are the mercenaries faring? Any deserters from them?"


    "No master, they''re lounging and partying as if they''re making the easiest coin of their lives," Iskra said.


    "They are." Mercenaries, ill-disciplined though they may be, were opportunists. They were no strangers to brutal fights, but they avoided them if they could. Their strength came from unnatural cohesion and camaraderie. Each band was relatively small, but they performed maneuvers with trained expertise due to having been through much hardships together.


    There were several well-known groups among the few dozen that were here. The Black Sun; tall dark skinned warriors with powerful muscles from the southern most regions of Tarmia. The Band of Mourners; comprised of former soldiers from all over, they had proper training but had taken up the path of mercenaries due to the added freedom. The Songblades; skilled warriors from the Far East. And The Iron Turtles who boasted having armor greater than Xenarian Queen''s Guard. All these groups had made a name for themselves fighting under Idris Khan as he ravaged the eastern fronts. All of them save for the Songblades who''d fought against him —and had earned his praise.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It didn''t matter much. They were all loyal to their purses, not their nation of origin. "Iskra, get me a whore."


    There was a pause. Kazir imagined his aide to be frowning. "Any… specifications?"


    Kazir flexed his fingers, thinking of strangling the man right there. "Was that a blind joke? Because it wasn''t very funny. But yes. I do have specifications. We are in the last month of this year. Ample time since Second Princess Elizia set out from the garrison. Enough time for her to have reached her destination with her small army, be killed, and then dragged back here."


    "Ah, you suspect Samlan has failed in his assassination then," Iskra said. "I see. About six feet, and lightly tanned skin then. And brown hair, correct?"


    "Yes. Lean but well-proportioned figure too. Don''t get me a string bean or a pig."


    "As the master wishes," Iskra said, probably bowing as there was a subtle breeze.


    The tent flap was thrown aside and another blast of winter stung Kazir''s skin. He clenched his teeth and returned to meditation, distant sounds of clamoring and clashing like that of primitive hollowed bone instruments clattering against thin stone.


    Iskra returned a long while after. A second, softer pair of footsteps entered the tent with him. Kazir crinkled his nose at the sharp scent of cheap perfume. "Miss Taissi is here to serve, master," Iskra announced.


    Feet wearing light shoes crunched down on grass and moved forward. "You are the supreme commander of the Empire''s army?" a soft voice asked. A singing voice, slightly high pitched. This woman could have chosen a different career path. Or then again, maybe not. Most in her profession got in young and with little other options when choosing how to sleep at night with a full belly and a roof atop. Taissi felt timid.


    "How old are you?" Kazir asked, expecting more confidence. Perhaps she was really young.


    "Twenty-seven," came a near stuttering reply.


    That old and not at all confident in her task? Or was she trying to gain his favor, assuming he was rich? Mercenaries could be a brutish bunch sometimes, but Kazir doubted they''d go to violent lengths when they were stuck in the encampment for months. A pair of tender fingers touched his face just below his scars. He swallowed, twitching at the ticklish feeling along his cheek. Her scent was making his head spin. When had she gotten so close?


    He swatted the hand aside, frowning. "Quit the maiden act. Answer my questions with more confidence."


    "Oh. You''re the talkative type," Taissi said, speaking with a slightly deeper voice, Tarmian accent clear. So she was putting up a well performed act, then. She moved in closer, grasping Kazir''s bare shoulders with her hands, sweet smelling silk brushing against his face. "Talk then. Though, I find men shut their mouths quickly when I get started."


    Kazir''s heart drummed. His interest levels were high. But he simply didn''t have the time. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, resisting Taissi''s attempt to force him on his back. He shoved her back instead and heard her fall on her rear. She let out an unwarranted yelp. Kazir flinched at the pain in his ears from the sudden loud sound. Surely falling on grass didn''t hurt that much?


    "You''re still here…" she muttered, likely looking towards Iskra.


    Funny. She had eyes and yet she didn’t know he was still there.


    "You know, two at once is going to cost more. A lot more," Taissi mumbled, the timidity returning to her tone. Something about it felt genuine this time.


    "Where are you from?" Kazir asked.


    "I work in Erid."


    Kazir masked his face, pretending to be annoyed while actually covering his nose. Heightened senses wasn''t always a good thing. The woman''s perfume was thinning his patience very quickly. "I asked where you''re from, not where you work."


    "Don''t know where I was born. Found work in Erid so I''m from Erid."


    For some reason, Kazir imagined her to be flicking her hair like the daughters of wealthy men. Wealthy men he''d killed plenty of. "Any children?"


    "Had three so far," she replied casually.


    "Where are they now?"


    "Don''t know. First one was when I was sixteen. Dropped it off straight at an orphanage. Couldn''t work nine whole months because of the cursed creature. Nearly starved in that time. Ended up having two more when I wasn''t careful but at least I''d had some money saved then. No clue what became of them."


    Kazir sighed. How many would die before they reached age ten? Would any be like him and be sent to the Wickar Temple to go through the horrors he''d suffered? He unconsciously rubbed at the hair wrapped around his neck, recalling memories of the slave collar that was once around it. Did Taissi have sons or daughters? If it was the latter, would they grow up the same as their mother, repeating the cycle?


    "Flames but it''s been over a Scorching month since my time," the woman continued. "Haven''t had any breaks since coming to this camp. I knew the pay wasn''t worth it. Now I might have another curse stuck inside."


    Kazir slowly rose to his feet. To call children she bore curses. He rubbed his aching eyes. Hardly like he had the moral high ground. He slowly drew the scimitar at his waist, mouth drying as the ringing sound vibrated against his eardrums. Was he feeling remorse now of all times? Was it because the target was harmless and unarmed?


    "I''ll say, if you plan to remove my clothing by cutting it, you''ll be paying for it. And I''ll—"


    Taissi''s sweet voice cut off as Kazir sliced through her throat. There was the sound of liquid drops pattering against the floor like rain pulled from branches and leaves by a passing wind. And then there was rustling and gurgling as the woman writhed on the ground.


    And then there was stillness.


    The smell of fresh blood overpowered that of perfume. Kazir wiped the top of his blade and sheathed it again. "Bury the body in snow. I want the skin to look ghastly so it seems more plausible that we dragged Elizia''s body a long distance in this weather. Batter the face and put a pike through it near evening''s end and call a retreat back to camp a little early today. I''ll go pay Kalin another visit."


    The thought of seeing his daughter dead will stew in his mind overnight, stealing his sleep and crushing his men''s morale. Kazir would leave the pike planted in the ground in plain view of Xenarian soldiers. Yes. Keep it there and let them see what had become of their beloved duchess and the Second Princess.


    "As the master commands," Iskra said, stepping out.


    Kazir counted his assassin''s near silent footsteps as they slowly disappeared into the many other sounds outside. Satisfied with how far his aide had gotten, he stumbled over to the edge of his tent and fell to his knees. Part of his hair unravelled, hanging before his bare chest. He clutched at his throat and bent over, the contents of his stomach bursting out. He spat, frowning at the acid taste left in his mouth. The imagination of what he''d just ordered done threatened to linger for years to come. Just this once, he thought his blindness was a blessing.


    Just this once.


    "Flames. When did I become so soft?" he muttered.